Something Lost, Something Found
by Zennith6
Summary: Sequel to tOSotC. Harry and Dumbledore have been crossing the continent in pursuit of Harry's education. But something dark and sinister, something from the past has been following closely in their wake, threatening all they've fought and worked for.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, so here we go. This is the start of the sequel to The Other Side of the Coin, so if you haven't read that this will make literally no sense at all! So yeah, go read that first, and then come back.

Anyways, here we are.

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**Something Lost, Something Found**

By Zennith

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**CHAPTER ONE**

The hour was late. Books were strewn around what appeared to be an entirely non-magical house stuffed to the brim with family photographs and plush purple armchairs. Several pages were torn from each of the books and had been stacked in a pile on the rustic wooden desk that sat front and center in what appeared to be the den. It was a large, homey, ancient seeming house. And at that desk a boy sat, furiously flipping through the torn out sheets of parchment. And he, Harry Potter, was alone.

Now for Harry this wasn't a particularly uncommon experience. There were many evenings where the young man, settled down in one place or another, was left alone to his studies. Where his mentor and former headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore went at these times was a mystery to him. Harry had never directly questioned his teacher as to these absences, and whenever he tried to bring up the general subject the conversation was steered subtly away to safer ground. And so the disappearances went unexplained to him.

This particular evening Harry found himself in the home of an old and doddering muggle lady who, according to Dumbledore, was away from home on an extended vacation and would be gone for at least a few weeks. This wasn't remarkable in and of itself. The two had made residence wherever was convenient over the past several years, depending on their location and purpose. Several times they'd lodged with personal friends of Dumbledore, other times they'd found a comfortable room in one of the many inns that peppered small towns across Europe. There had even been a week where they'd purchased a room at a Best Western, which according to Dumbledore was the largest hotel chain in the world. Harry had no idea how the old man knew that, but laughed it off with a shrug. His professor was nothing if not confusing, especially when he was in a good spirits.

At that moment, though, Harry himself was not in good spirits. He'd been given a task by his professor, one that he'd been working at for a good number of hours with seemingly little progress to show for it.

He grabbed a stray leaf of parchment and flattened it out on the desk before him. The page was clearly decades old, the ink had faded and the corners were rolling in on themselves. He scanned the lines quickly but found that they bore very little resemblance to anything that could remotely help him with his work. Frustrated, Harry swept the page off the desk and drew his wand.

It felt like Hogwarts all over again. Dumbledore rarely gave him entirely academic assignments, usually pairing them with specific lessons and practical examples. And Harry knew that this exercise, if he could complete it, would certainly help him moving forward.

But to be honest, Harry had no idea how to carve a precise inscription on a surface with a single incantation. He'd meddled only minimally with spell crafting, and Dumbledore had decided that it would be the next area they stressed in his magical education. He was already behind, according to the old man, because Dumbledore had crafted his first true spell at the age of fourteen. Harry, newly fifteen, had simply shrugged at this declaration. Was it his fault that he wasn't Dumbledore? He didn't particularly think so. His main talents, they'd found, lay in different areas than his mentor's did.

He took the wand in his hand and swished it lightly, aiming it towards the smooth surface of the desk, muttering a few syllables he'd managed to string together. Nothing happened. Harry grunted and sat back in his chair, exhausted. It was late, and the words on the pages were running together in a way that made his head spin.

Resigned to the fact that he would make no more progress that night, Harry stood from the desk and walked towards the living room where he'd fashioned himself a bed on a large and overdesigned couch with floral patterned cushions and ornate wooden arms and legs. There was a large master bedroom and even a well furnished guest room, but Harry never felt truly comfortable sleeping in a bed when the owners were unaware. And so he'd quickly learned several cushioning spells to make even the stiffest couch comfortable. But since Dumbledore was away he couldn't even use those, having been told to not use magic without his presence to shield him from the laws regarding underage magic.

With a sigh Harry collapsed on the couch which was just too short for him to stretch out fully on. When he tried, he found his head bumping up against the wooden arm, and with another sigh he curled up and tried to go to sleep.

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Harry sat up. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been truly asleep or just lost in his thoughts, but there was something, a sound that he'd maybe heard, that caused him to snap quickly to awareness. He listened closely, relying on the wards set up by Dumbledore to alert him if anything truly dangerous came nearby. And, in the midst of a suburban muggle neighborhood, what was there to worry about?

But there is was again.

Harry grabbed his wand from the side table where it had been resting and stood carefully, angling his back to the corner of the room.

And still the sound persisted. Almost a slithering, it was a sound almost reminiscent of leaves blowing in the wind, and yet somehow the tones were far more sinister in the dark of the night.

The house creaked, as old houses often do, and Harry listened carefully for any other sound that might be out of place.

And finally, he heard it. He heard a noise that chilled him to the bone.

It was the sound of tearing, of fabric being shredded and mattresses being torn asunder. The sound came from both the direction of the master bedroom to his left and traveled down the hallway to his right, where the guest room was situated. And Harry thought, with terrifying awareness, that there was clearly only a single explanation.

Someone was trying to kill him. And very likely Dumbledore as well. They were obviously aware of the location of both bedrooms and had been able to bypass Dumbledore's wards without setting them off. It was only because he had turned away from either room that he was still breathing. And his mentor, of course, was nowhere to be found.

His mind was racing. He was facing unknown assailants in unknown numbers. His back was to the wall and the front door was in the direction of the guest bedroom, where he knew attackers to be. And he had no time to think. They would notice that the rooms were empty, and they would undoubtedly search the house for anybody still on the premises.

And of course, they would find him.

So there was only one thing he could do. He had to run.

And just as he came to that decision the tearing sounds stopped. There was a moment of silence before that soft slithering sound resumed. And it was coming closer.

Beads of sweat began to form on Harry's forehead as he clenched his wand tightly in his hand. He knew that when he moved they'd likely hear him, so he couldn't be slow, he had to decide where he was going and run as quickly as possible. The next room over was the den in which he'd been working. There was a window above the desk that he'd opened earlier that evening to let in the cool air. He couldn't recall if he'd closed it or not, but that was no matter. He could get through it either way. And best of all, it was in the opposite direction of the guest room, and the sounds from that direction were growing steadily more audible with every passing moment.

He could not wait any longer. Mustering up every ounce of courage that he had, he took a deep breath and bolted towards the large and open doorway.

And as he moved into the next room he looked back to see a pair of tall, gaunt seeming men entering the living room behind him. They moved swiftly in near silence as they surveyed the room. Harry could see that they were on alert, and they almost certainly knew that someone was still in the house. He turned back to the room in front of him and stopped suddenly in his tracks. He could see the window, still open, letting in a soft breeze above the desk, the stack of papers fluttering lightly with the wind.

But he would never be able to reach it. Because in front of him stood two more men, identical to the ones behind him. They smiled slightly and Harry could see fangs glistening in the moonlight.

Fangs.

Vampires.

Harry's blood ran cold. He was alone. Surrounded by vampires. With no obvious means of escape other than to fight. And he'd heard the stories, he knew the lore. Vampires were strong. Vampires were tough, resistant to magic. And they were _mean_. Many of them delighted in causing great pain to their prey before feasting upon them.

Somehow Harry doubted that he'd happened upon the lucky few who just took they're subject's blood and left it at that.

Harry could hear the other two enter the room from behind. He didn't really want to stop and chat and if he waited even another moment they would close in on him and then he would really have nowhere to go.

Vampires.

Vampires don't like sunlight.

Harry had no idea whether or not wand light would have any impact at all, but he had to try. Brandishing his wand before him, he muttered softly "_Lumos!"_

A sphere of light appeared at the tip of his wand and the vampires before him drew back slightly and he could hear those behind him stop in their tracks. He allowed himself a moment to breathe, but he felt any amount of composure he had left flee from his body when one of the vampires, the one standing directly before him, began to laugh quietly.

Harry decided that he'd rather not wait around for the Vampire to speak, as every moment he wasted was another moment that they would gain position and power over him. While the light wasn't hurting them, it did seem to make them at least a bit uncomfortable. He gazed over the vampire's shoulder at the window, which remained his sole source of hope.

In a move that seemed to surprise his assailants, Harry darted forward, directly towards the vampires. With a whip his wand let loose two successive jets of fire that the two vampires were forced to spin away from and Harry jumped past them and on to the desk below the window. Escape was within his grasp, he could feel the crisp air on his cheek as he made to leap through the portal in to the open air.

But he never made it. A cold, strong hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled downwards with such force that the desk splintered and Harry was brought crashing to the ground.

Harry swung around so that his back was to the ground and cast another jet of flame straight into the air above him. As the flames struck one of the vampires who had gotten to close at the prospect of a quick kill, Harry rolled to the side and barely managed to avoid a strike from the one that had grabbed him, forcing the vampire to relinquish his hold upon the boy's ankle.

He sprung to his feet and found himself facing one vampire who was batting the flames from his body and another who was scowling and stalking towards him menacingly. Harry could see that the fire he had not disappeared. Instead it had caught the carpet and the predominately wooden household furniture. Even if, for some reason, the vampires didn't kill him, the house was going up in flames and Harry knew he would very quickly face death at the hands of either the flames themselves or asphyxiation caused by the billowing smoke that was spreading throughout the house.

He had to move quickly, even though he had lost sight of the two vampires who had been behind him. The one who had been set aflame would soon turn back to face him, so he had to hit the other and make another rush for the window.

Or at least that was his plan. But he never had the chance to execute it, because at that moment the two unseen vampires pounced from the shadows and tackled him to the ground. Harry watched in dismay as his wand fell from his hand at the impact and clattered across the floor, coming to a rest dangerously close to the licking flames that were threatening to encroach upon them all.

Harry looked up at the four vampires who were standing above him. He sighed in resignation and leaned his head back against the ground. He closed his eyes; he couldn't bear to watch as he waited for the final blows to fall.

And as he waited the roaring of the flames became muted, his mind slowed and his senses sharpened, he could smell his own sweat and fear above the charring smoke that had taken over.

Harry Potter waited. But the blows never came. And suddenly, he knew that Dumbledore had arrived.

His eyes opened to see what amounted to a war zone above him. Spells were flying at speeds unimaginable to him as a white beard and robes worked to dispatch the four vampires, who while outnumbering him were clearly outmatched and on the run.

Harry didn't stand. Instead, he turned and crawled towards his wand as quickly as he could. The flames, of course, were still burning merrily and the smoke was making Harry's pursuit of his wand extremely difficult, his glasses becoming a real distraction as they became gritty and covered with smoke so that when he opened his eyes he could see almost nothing. He felt around on the searing hot floor and knew he was close to the flames. Just as he was reaching out he felt himself pulled through the air and away from his wand. He shouted, but suddenly he felt himself tossed through the open window and out into the crisp and incredibly refreshing fall air. He hit the grass softly and could only manage a few gasping breaths before his consciousness collapsed around him.

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He awoke in clean white sheets and a crisp comforter. The bed was soft and the feather pillows were large and inviting. Harry immediately groaned and rolled over in the bed. He didn't know where he was, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. He was comfortable, but his body ached, and above all else he wanted to return to sleep.

But before he could manage to return to blissful slumber he heard the sound of a man clearing his throat. Sighing, he sat up.

And there sat his mentor, Albus Dumbledore. The man was looking at him over his gold rimmed half-moon glasses. He was sending Harry a light smile and appraised him carefully.

It was Harry who broke the silence and spoke first. "Where are we?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, I'm glad to hear you speak. How are you feeling?"

Harry took a breath and then sat back against the head of the bed. "I'm okay, professor. I'm alive."

Albus nodded. "That you are, Harry. And to answer your question, we are residing in the home of Nicholas Flamel and his charming wife Perenelle. They are away on business at the moment, but were kind enough to offer us their home in our moment of need."

Harry looked about for a moment.

"Are we safe?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded again and stood slowly from the gilded chair in which he had previously been seated. He took a deep breath and looked out the single window in the room.

"Yes, Harry. We will be safe here. I would be very stunned indeed if any assailant could bypass the wards surrounding this house."

Harry could not help himself. "They got past yours."

Dumbledore turned to look at him. "Yes, they did. And Nicolas has over five hundred years on me. I daresay he's as capable as any man alive when it comes to protection."

Harry nodded in a somewhat sheepish manner and a moment of silence descended upon the pair.

"What happened, sir? Do you know?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Four vampires managed to bypass my wards in an attempt to murder the both of us. Only fortunate circumstances and your impressive performance prevented an untimely demise for each of us."

Harry nodded. "What happened to them?"

At this, Dumbledore let loose an almost feral smile that seemed to Harry entirely unnatural upon the old man's face. "Well, Harry, I would at the very least suggest that you have nothing more to worry about when it comes to those particular vampires."

Harry shuddered and sat forward once more. His mind was buzzing, and he could feel heat still in his lungs. He didn't want to even consider how much smoke he had inhaled during the fight. He sighed heavily and spoke, "Thank you, sir. For saving me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry. Do not thank me. I abdicated my duties and left you in grave danger. Do not thank me for that."

Harry didn't push the matter and instead asked another question that was grating upon him. "What were they doing there? How did they know where the bedrooms were? And why were they trying to kill us at all?"

Dumbledore turned from the window and paced to the far corner of the room. "Those are three questions, Harry, which I would very much like to know the answer to myself."

Harry sat forward on the bed and looked expectantly at the old man. "But you have a hunch."

There was a moment of silence again before the wizened old wizard shook his head. "No, Harry. I wish I could reassure you otherwise, but whoever was behind the attack was very thorough when it came to dismantling my wards. They left no trace."

Harry sighed. "So we'll just go on as if nothing happened?"

Another silence before Dumbledore spoke again. "Not exactly, Harry. We will be more vigilant. But beyond that I'm afraid there's nothing else to be done."

It was then that Harry happened upon a sobering fact in his head. He looked up at his professor, an extremely worried look upon his face. Dumbledore noticed this and looked at him with concern.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

Harry spoke quickly. "My wand, professor. Did you get it?"

Dumbledore sighed. "That is what you were grasping for, I suppose."

Harry nodded in response, looking at Dumbledore with fear on his face.

Albus shook his head. "I'm afraid I did not see it, Harry. I was otherwise occupied at the time. I'd suppose that it was engulfed in the flames much like the rest of the house."

Harry sighed. "I've already gone through two wands. How many more can there be that fit me well?"

At this, Albus Dumbledore actually smiled. "I wouldn't worry, Harry. This actually works out quite nicely. I'd been meaning to head a bit west, and we'll only have to make a small detour to find you a new wand."

Harry looked at the man quizzically. "What do you mean? Why not just go to Olivander's?"

Harry gestured for Harry to get up and the boy did. He found that he was fully dressed, except for shoes, and quite clean, as if he'd taken a nice shower. Of course, he could not recall having done so, but he merely shrugged and looked up at the man, who was speaking as he stood.

"Ollivander is absolutely a master of his craft. But I just feel the timing may be right for a change. Tell me, Harry, have you ever heard the name Gregorovitch?"

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The past two years had been nothing short of a whirlwind. They'd traveled through several countries just seeing places that Dumbledore deemed significant magically. And that was how Harry had spent his first several months as the man's student. It felt to him like he wasn't studying at all, merely seeing the sights that peppered the magical world. They'd been to places like Stonehenge, the Pantheon, and Persepolis. And Harry had seen firsthand the power of ancient magic, places that had stood for millennia, places that dwarfed anything he had seen in the common world of muggle or magical London.

And while he missed Hogwarts immensely, he also realized that he was having experiences that every other student would be jealous of, and that none would turn down a chance to trade places with him. And so he resolved, early on in the trip, to simply enjoy where he was and to try and put Hogwarts behind him. It wasn't his home anymore. He was on a grand adventure, Dumbledore said, and Harry believed him. How could he not?

And as he sat next to his mentor on the train (Dumbledore firmly believed that taking one's time in travel was a thing of leisure, not a hassle), he could not help but let his mind wander to some of his early days.

After they'd traveled for several months the two had settled down for what had turned out to be their longest stay in any one place so far. It was in Germany, a small town known as Zwickau where Dumbledore had some friends from times long gone by.

And there, Harry'd begun to study in earnest with the man. He'd spend two hours a day working in practical application of spells with Dumbledore, essentially practicing Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense in practical trial settings that Dumbledore put him through. Life size puzzles where he had to figure out which spell could save him and which branch of knowledge he needed had become a part of daily life for the boy, thirteen at the time they'd settled down.

There had also been bookwork. Not in any traditional sense, instead they would brew a potion and Harry would be instructed to write down everything he noted regarding the preparation and effects of ingredients and methods. In essence, he was writing his own textbook filled with all of the knowledge Dumbledore chose to share with him.

The train rumbled through the green of the European countryside, the season just beginning to turn to fall, there was little but green on the ground and in the trees. Harry watched in silence as the sights sped past. The old man was snoring lightly next to him, but Harry doubted that he was truly at rest. He'd never actually seen him in a truly relaxed position. The man was always at attention, always ready, always aware of his surroundings.

And the question of his absences gnawed at him sometimes. He knew that he had no right, that Dumbledore had essentially put his life on hold for him, but he couldn't help but be curious. Especially since the man was so reticent to talk, he could not help but want to know. He always shrugged it off, but it was still in the corner of his mind.

He could feel that he'd progressed. It was certainly different than what Riddle had been teaching him. He'd been forced to start small, start slowly. He wasn't learning, initially, any spells that could cause damage or that seemed particularly impressive in any way. It was, in some ways, quite boring at times. He'd certainly improved when it came to transfiguration, but it was still far from his favorite. Charms were okay, but not his favorite.

In truth, he still craved the power that he'd once held in his hands. He hadn't used spells like he'd learned in his first years at Hogwarts since he'd begun training with Dumbledore. He hadn't even thought to turn to them when faced with serious danger, he'd gone other ways. He couldn't help but wonder what he would have been able to do had he been training with Riddle.

He sighed and pushed those thoughts from his mind. He hadn't seen the man since that last day at Hogwarts, and he knew that he shouldn't even think about traveling down that path. He'd seen and heard stories of Dark Wizards who had been consumed by their own power and he knew that he didn't want to become one of them. However, he also was not convinced that Tom Riddle was truly dark. But as he hadn't seen the man and had no means of making contact with him, he had no way to verify his train of thought.

He could feel the train begin to slow and Dumbledore sat up slowly next to him. The old man gave him a bemused look. Harry smiled slightly as the man turned back to face the front of the cabin.

They reached their destination, a small town in northern Germany close to the Denmark border. They'd had to transfer trains twice, but here they were. The platform was almost entirely empty and Harry surveyed what seemed like a quaint and charming little town. Albus nodded at him and the two began to walk towards the main thoroughfare of the town.

"So, Gregorovitch. What makes him so good?" Harry asked as the two walked at a measured pace.

"He's not necessarily a better wandmaker than Ollivander. He's simply of a different nature, his wands of a different temperament. You've shown yourself to be particularly proficient in some of the more… destructive elements of magic, fire specifically. I believe that one of his wands may prove to be a better fit for you."

Harry nodded. "So his wands are a bit more… in the way of brute force?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I wouldn't put it that way. He's just as subtle as Ollivander in many ways. His wands simply seem to have a different temperament. I had a boyhood friend whose wand was of Gregorovitch's make. He was one of the most talented men I've ever known. His wand certainly was of no hindrance."

Harry shrugged. "Sounds interesting. He knows that we're coming."

Dumbledore nodded again. "He does. I sent word before we left, and he assured me that he'd be able to find a wand for you."

And soon they found themselves in front of a dingy, but comfortable seeming shop just off the main road. Harry gave Dumbledore a quick look, and then walked in.

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It was a start.

But now they were on their guard.

It was no matter, not really. They knew, but they'd forget soon enough. Especially the boy. Time was still on his side, and he wasn't particularly choosey when it came to the execution. All that mattered was that it happened.

He would have his revenge.

He'd been following them. He'd followed them for years. The pursuit had been long, but he had nothing else to hold on to. He'd been stuck for fifty years before now, so to take the time to do this right… well, it was what he'd had to do.

He'd finally decided to test the boy and Dumbledore's protections. He hadn't expected the coerced vampires to actually succeed, but they'd done better than he'd ever imagined. He'd been able to override the meager protections and set the attack in motion. The old man had grown complacent. It was a mere four vampires that had pushed him to the brink and forced him to return. He was growing old.

That was one advantage of his unique… status. He didn't age. He couldn't even die, not as he was, not as things were.

He was glad, truthfully, that the attack had failed. He wanted to do this thing right. It was going to be him, himself, personally. There was no other way.

And he would be back. And he would have a body.

The boy had power, the boy showed promise. It was why he was with Dumbledore, it was why he was traveling the world, and it was why Albus Dumbledore had made the trip to his old hideout.

And he had awoken.

He owed it to the boy's presence. And he would reward him. He would reward him with power beyond all comprehension. And all that would be required on his part was a meager sacrifice.

Things were starting to fall into place.

The world was moving and changing. The time had given him the opportunity to recoup what had been lost – the fragile strands of sanity had managed to weave themselves back into a coherent narrative.

Time heals all wounds.

The cliché was true. He was proof.

And he would have his revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, I know it's been about forever since I've updated this fic - started on another one and then there were/are the DLP monthly competitions that distract me... also this real life thing going on. I'm going to try to keep this updated at a more regular place, if you haven't already check out for early updates - also don't forget to join the DLP C2: .net/community/DLP_5_Starred_and_Featured_Authors/84507/ - do it now!

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**CHAPTER TWO**

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The shop was nothing like Olivander's. It was not decorated with bookshelf after bookshelf strewn with boxes upon boxes, instead everything seemed in perfect order, not a thing out of line. The man behind the counter was watching Harry intently as he entered. He was older, with silvery hair and what appeared to be a perpetual scowl. Dumbledore was still outside waiting – he'd received an owl almost immediately upon our arrival, and he was busy crafting a response.

And so there Harry was. He walked to the counter slowly, observing the sleekness and quietness of his surroundings.

The man at the counter watched him for a few moments before speaking.

"What can I do for you?" The man asked in a rough baritone, something in his voice grated with every syllable.

Harry swallowed for a moment. "I'm here to see Gregorovitch… I need a wand."

The man nodded. "Well why else would you have come to a wand shop? A little old, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "My wand broke."

The clerk tilted his head to the side. "How'd that happen? Careless, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. Just got into a bit of… trouble. It couldn't be helped."

Furrowing his brow, the man looked Harry over for a moment. Harry stood tall under his scrutiny.

Finally, the man nodded. "All right then. One moment."

He turned on his heel and left through the door to the back of the shop. A moment passed with Harry simply standing there, waiting.

And then the man returned through the door with a slight smile upon his face. He held out his hand over the counter and Harry shook it hesitantly.

"Welcome, then, Harry Potter. You may call me Gregorovitch."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why did you go back there?"

The man smiled. "I thought we deserved a clean start. Welcome again, Mr. Potter. Has Albus accompanied you as promised?"

Harry chose to ignore the first bit and answered. "He's outside sending a letter. I presume he'll be in shortly."

"Good, good."

Gregorovitch stepped out from behind the counter and started taking Harry's measurements. By hand, Harry noticed. There was no floating tape-measure here.

Harry stood there quietly as the man went about his task. The man worked quickly, with catlike movements, it didn't seem like an ounce of energy was wasted. He was clearly practiced at this.

Upon completing his measurements, Gregorovitch drew his wand and waved it almost carelessly. A fine wooden chair appeared at Harry's side.

"Sit, sit." The man gestured to the chair, so Harry sat.

Gregorovitch sat back in the chair behind the counter and looked over it at the young man.

"I've heard an awful lot about you, Harry Potter."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Have you?"

The man nodded.

"What have you heard?" Harry asked softly.

Smirking, the man answered, "Many things, Harry. Mostly good, have no concern."

"How do you know Dumbledore?"

Gregorovitch sighed. "The world is a very small place, Harry Potter. You would do well to remember that."

Harry nodded slightly. "This seems to be true, from everything I've learned."

The older man grew pensive, and seemed to be considering something deeply. Harry simply sat and watched the man for a time. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Is there… something else? I'm here for a wand."

Raising an eyebrow, Gregorovitch chuckled lightly. "I know why you're here."

"Well… do you have any I could try?"

The raised eyebrow remained where it was. "Is that how you would like to do it?"

Harry nodded. 'That's how Olivander did it."

"Indeed, trial and error is usually the most dependable way."

Gregorovitch stood and muttered something under his breath. A long and slender box appeared on the counter in front of him. He nodded for Harry to take the wand from its case.

Harry did. He lifted the top and drew the wand lightly. It was a bit longer than Harry's old wand, and had a bit more heft to it. He began to wave it to see what happened, but stalled when he noticed Gregorovitch's raised eyebrow.

"What were you going to do, just wave it and see what happened? I like to keep my shop in good order."

Nodding, Harry considered the wand carefully.

"Well, go on," Gregorovitch interrupted, "Conjure me something, if you will."

Harry looked at him blankly. "You think I can conjure?"

The older man furrowed his brow in a way that seemed sincere. "Hmm. Well, if you can't, would you perhaps… transfigure something in this room. The wand's case, perhaps."

Harry nodded, and brandished the wand in the general direction of the case. The box shrunk and twisted and began to fold in upon itself. Harry snapped the wand again, but the now twisted and sunken thing did not respond.

Grimacing, Gregorovitch waved his wand and the case returned to normal.

"No, not that one I suppose. Shall we keep on with this?"

Harry returned the wand to the box and pushed it back over the counter. "Is there a better way?"

But before the wand maker could answer, the main door opened once more and Albus Dumbledore, smiling, strode confidently in to the shop.

Gregorovitch stood immediately, greeting the former headmaster warmly.

After shaking the man's hand, Dumbledore looked down at Harry, still sitting.

"And how are things progressing here, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "We've not found the right one yet. We've only just started looking."

Dumbledore took his shoulder. "I'm certain you'll find the right one, Harry. But if you don't mind, I'd like to commandeer my old friend for a moment. Wait here, Harry. We'll return momentarily."

Without waiting for a response Dumbledore nodded to the other man. Gregorovitch turned and beckoned for Dumbledore to follow. The door swung shut behind them as they disappeared into the back of the shop.

And so Harry sat there, staring at the newly revived box containing the first of what he presumed would be many wands that would not work for him.

Sighing, Harry sat back in the chair. Out of boredom, he took the wand from the box once more and started experimenting with it. He aimed at the box again and waved the wand slightly. The box shuddered slightly before widening and doubling in size.

Harry smiled slightly. He waved the wand again and the box shrunk to just the size of a matchbox.

He examined the wand in his hand for a moment. Again he noted the wand's heft, although there was something that felt much more… solid about it than either of the two wands he'd used previously.

He held the wand out in front of him and concentrated for a moment – the small matchbook sized case suddenly shifted and twisted and became a sheet of paper.

Harry considered the spell he'd been working on that night – before the vampires had arrived – and he waved the wand, incanting the syllables he'd been working on stringing together.

A script appeared on the paper, although it was indecipherable, at least there was something. Harry smiled and sat back, holding the wand limply in his hand as he considered his handiwork, however poor it might have been.

And then there was an explosion.

The door through which Dumbledore and Gregorovitch had left shattered outward, a spray of splinters flew through the shop. Harry instinctually brandished the wand already in his hand and cast a quick _Protego_. The splinters fell away from him harmlessly as he tried to peer through the hole in the door. There was smoke, though, and he could not see what was happening.

Suddenly a jet of flame burst through the opening – strait in Harry's direction. Harry dropped the shield that he realized would not be effective and dove to the side, out of the way of the flames.

Knowing he couldn't let the flames spread, he waved his wand and sent a torrent of water towards the fire licking at the base of the walls.

Seeing that the fire had lessened, Harry jumped to his feet and held his wand out defensively. What was going on in there? Where Dumbledore and Gregorovitch fighting? Were they hurt?

Before he could discover any of these answers, a red jet of light flew from the doorway. Harry deflected the spell aside and sent a quick cutting curse in return. The spell flew flawlessly from the wand, but he didn't imagine his opponent had been stalled.

Harry knew he could flee, he could run. But perhaps his assailant had allies, and was simply attempting to force me out. He couldn't rule that out.

And so Harry did the only thing he could think of. He went on the offensive. Jumping towards the door he sent an array of disarming and stunning spells through the wide opening and into the darkness. He could see the spells being batted aside, but still he persisted.

As he paused to breath, he heard a chuckle from his opponent. "Relentless, Potter. I approve."

A light came on above them from the doorway. Gregorovitch was standing there, wand held limply between his fingers. Dumbledore was in the hallway behind him, watching amusedly.

Harry looked at them both with something less than amusement. "What in the hell was that?"

Gregorovitch took a step forward. "Language, Potter. Let us return to the front, we'll speak more there."

Dumbledore nodded and Harry, seeing this, sighed and relented.

"Fine."

And so the three returned to the main room of the shop. Gregorovitch took his spot behind the counter while Harry returned to the conjured chair, the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. Dumbledore, smiling lightly, conjured a large fluffy armchair and took a seat. He nodded to Gregorovitch, implying that the man should speak, and then reclined back in the chair.

Harry looked to the wand maker expectantly.

The man smirked. "So Harry," he drawled slowly, "what do you think of the wand?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man before looking down at the wand clenched tightly between his fingers.

"It works."

Gregorovitch nodded. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

Harry looked back up at the man. "Doesn't explain why you attacked me."

The man's head tilted to the side. "No? It didn't work well for you, at first."

Harry nodded. "No, it didn't."

"It didn't help that I asked you to transfigure something – I'm told that while you're certainly capable, it could be considered your weakest subject."

Harry shot a look at Dumbledore, who remained impassive. Looking back, Harry nodded.

"Yes, that's true."

"But when you were pressed, when you had to defend yourself, the wand channeled your thoughts perfectly."

Harry nodded, but didn't speak.

"The point is," Gregorovitch started, "that the wand you thought wouldn't work for you, suddenly when called upon in a moment of need, adapted to you. You made yourself its owner. And once you did that, the wand responded. It also helped that you seem to have a particular talent for the more… shall we say, destructive aspects of magic. Too many people assume that a wand will not work for them without fully trying."

Harry looked at the man blankly. "What would have happened has this wand truly not been a fit for me?"

Gregorovitch grinned. "Well, you'd have had to figure out something. In any case, this didn't occur. The wand worked for you."

Harry reluctantly nodded. "It did."

"Then there's nothing to be upset about, is there?"

Dumbledore stood and held out his hand. "I appreciate your time and help."

Gregorovitch shook it and smiled. "Any time. That'll be fifteen galleons please."

Harry sighed and fished through his things for the money.

As they exited the shop Harry looked up at Dumbledore, striding purposefully next to him.

"Did you know that was going to happen?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not exactly. I knew he had something in mind."

Harry sighed. "Everyone's so dramatic."

At this, Dumbledore actually chuckled. "You learn to embrace it, Harry."

"You certainly have." Harry joked.

Dumbledore looked at the teen with mirth in his eyes. "Of course, Harry! It works well, especially when I am intending to… let's say, hide my true purpose."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well that does make sense."

"I suggest, Harry, that you start cultivating your own, ah – shall we call it… signature?"

Harry snorted. "I'm sorry sir, but I can't imagine wearing bright purple robes and sporting a long fluffy beard. Maybe when I'm older."

Dumbledore sighed wistfully. "One can only hope."

Harry couldn't contain himself any longer and burst out laughing. Dumbledore chuckled along as the two continued on their way.

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~.~.~

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Harry couldn't sleep. He covered his head with his pillow, trying to block out the fact that the sun was already peeking out above the snowcapped mountains that made themselves visible outside his window. He sighed heavily closed his eyes tighter – but every moment of frustration simply made it more difficult for the young man to find sleep. He took a deep breath, and then another one – trying to slow down his breathing. But nothing was working. Harry was exhausted, but somehow couldn't make that translate into even an hour of true rest.

Green eyes snapped open as the boy reflexively sought the hands on the grandfather clock tucked tightly in the corner of the hotel room.

It was already five in the morning.

Shaking his head, Harry sat up groggily. The rest of the room was perfectly adequate, the weathered old grandfather clock accompanied by accoutrements of all different nature – little toys and trinkets designed to make the room feel a bit more like home. Dumbledore had brought them to the inn at Gregorovitch's suggestion, and the two had stayed there for several days now, simply taking in the sights of the small but picturesque German village.

Harry stood up. It was clear he wouldn't be getting any rest that evening, and even if he were to fall asleep, he'd be woken again in a few hours at most. It hardly seemed worth it. Instead, the boy reached for his wand sitting on the side table next to bed and grasped it tightly between his fingers. He opened his door slowly, careful not to make much in the way of noise lest he inadvertently wake Dumbledore or another guest.

He made his way down the several flights of stairs that separated his room from the main entranceway to the inn. The front desk was unmanned as Harry stepped gingerly by it. He wasn't sure why he was being so cautious – this wasn't Hogwarts, he wasn't breaking any rules. And yet he found himself seeking solitude – he didn't want anyone to ask where he was going. In truth, he had no destination in mind.

As he pushed through the double doors guarding the main entrance to the building, he felt a slight chill run through him. There was fog on the ground, not a soul could be seen out and about the town.

And so Harry walked the narrow cobblestone street without direction. His wand tucked away in his pocket, he could see the sun continuing its steady march above the mountains as he walked. There were occasional gusts of wind that caused Harry to question whether or not he was adequately dressed, and yet for some reason he did not want to use magic to heat him. A part of him enjoyed feeling the brisk air sweep through his skin, the light fog touch upon his shoulders and ears as he walked slowly through the moving currents of the street.

The roads remained vacant as Harry meandered his way through the town. He noticed this with what should have been surprise, but he found himself surprisingly calm, indifferent.

Then there was a moment, a moment where the fog and wind seemed to coalesce for a moment before him, like creating a form from nothing – behavior that seemed very outside the norm for wind and fog. But as Harry narrowed his eyes and tried to perceive exactly what was happening, the phenomenon vanished and the fog wisped away.

Harry stood there for a moment on the empty walkway. His mind felt filled with cobwebs, he felt sluggish. He was lacking sleep, certainly, but he couldn't quite place why he felt so… out of sorts.

He tried to shrug it off. He looked around and thought to himself that it might make a good deal of sense to return to the hotel. Dumbledore would be up soon, he surmised, and it would be good to speak with the man, if just for the sake of company – and security.

Harry turned around and made to walk back in the direction of the inn. But as he looked around he realized suddenly that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He shook his head and the cobwebs began to flee – where was he?

He looked about at his surroundings – the buildings and homes were similar to those he's seen scattered throughout the village, and yet he was quite certain he'd never been here. He tried to think back to the way he'd traveled, the turns he'd made and the streets he'd walked, but for some reason it all seemed hazy, he couldn't place it.

It felt, almost, like he was finally waking up and the last hour had been nothing but a dream.

And yet here he was, alone.

He looked about alertly and pulled his wand from his pocket. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for or what it was he was afraid of. But there was something simply… off about this whole situation.

And suddenly, there it was.

The fog and wind whipped up in the center of the street upon which Harry had been treading. It whirled and spun and seemed to be forming into something that looked vaguely human, and yet there was no way it could be.

Harry started and held his wand out before him. The form was still shimmering and swirling; Harry could not for the life of him tell what in the world was happening.

And then the thing moved. With the consistency of smoke the being swirled and slithered swiftly in Harry's direction, crossing the mere hundred meters between them with deadly efficiency.

Harry shouted and let burst forth a jet of flame from his newly purchased wand and it responded instantly – instinctually. Yet it was to no avail, the fire dissipated as the winds swept towards him and in a rush collided with the boy.

He was sent flying through the air and hit the cobblestone hard, his wand falling from his grip and clattering more than a meter away.

Harry tried to stumble to his feet but found himself thrown once more to the floor. What was he fighting? Who? He had no idea.

As he lay there, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, the wind and fog formed once more before him. But instead of pushing violently, the thing just simply hung there for a moment.

And there was a second where Harry was convinced he'd seen a human face through the smoky haze, through the wind and fog. Harry slowly tried to back away and stand, this time the thing let him.

Shakily, Harry took to his feet and moved slowly to grasp his wand. Once again, the thing let him.

Harry took the wand in his hand and held it out before him, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good. This seemed like something… like something that he'd never seen before. He had no idea what to do.

And still the thing watched him.

Harry came to a decision, then. Rather than stand there and wait for the thing to attack him again, he was simply going to try to get as far away from it as possible.

He waited another moment – another tense moment where nothing happened – before he began to walk away from the thing. Slowly, at first, but when he noticed that the creature of wind and fog was not following closely, he began to run.

The slap of his feet against the stone resonated through the still empty walkways – and Harry realized that by now, at least an hour if not two since he'd awoken, there should have been people around. The sun was suddenly full in the sky, the fog had lifted. There were still no people.

Harry just kept running.

He looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing. He grasped his wand tightly and felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but still he did not slow his pace. He knew rationally that if the thing wanted to catch him it probably could, but he still did not slow down, not until he found himself somehow before the inn from which he'd come those two hours earlier.

Harry looked up at the old, quaint building, and shook his head. Again, he'd no idea how he'd ended up here coming back. He'd just been running.

He felt like he was being messed with, like someone or something was toying with him.

And he didn't like it.

Breathing heavily, he pulled open the front doors and trudged inside to find Dumbledore.

He had to tell him what happened. But how would he explain it?

Looking back now, it seemed like nothing that'd happened that morning was at all by his design. He even now began to doubt his own insomnia – had this… thing, had it caused everything? Had he been compelled? If there was one thing Harry Potter could not stand, it was the feeling of being absolutely powerless, of having no control over his own self.

How could he explain the events?

He sighed and took the stairs to his room, his mind full of cobwebs once again – but this time he felt they were natural.

He was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all, and after that ordeal, all he wanted to do was return to his room and sleep for hours. He knew he should speak to Dumbledore first thing, but he couldn't help himself.

Harry found his way to his room and stumbled heavily inside. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He awoke what felt like minutes later, although one glance at the clock in the corner told him it had been several hours. He sat up quickly and shook away the last vestiges of sleep. He needed to talk to Dumbledore; he shouldn't have waited as long as he did. The old man would want to know.

So Harry stood, still dressed as he had been that morning, and swept from his room, grabbing his wand as he went. After this morning he found it prudent to never be without it. As he did this he found himself shockingly wide-eyed, suffering no ill effects of the little sleep and disruption of that morning.

Dumbledore's room was across the hall from his own, and Harry reached it with a few long, quick steps. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and stood back, waiting.

The door didn't open.

He knocked again, but once more there was no response.

Harry tried the knob, it wouldn't turn.

Usually Harry would have walked away and looked elsewhere; it was certainly plausible that Dumbledore was simply out. But for some reason, Harry felt like something was certainly off. It was the same feeling he'd gotten that morning, when he'd 'awoken' outside. He was certain that something wasn't right.

He drew his wand from his back pocket and whispered "_Alohamora" _and tried the door again. It didn't open, there was no response. The door felt sealed quite securely.

Harry sat back for a moment. What if Dumbledore was simply out? He would of course protect his room. Although he'd also probably have told him, or at least have left a note.

Caution was the most important thing. Constant Vigilance.

Even if Harry went overboard, Dumbledore would understand. And something inside of him screamed that he had to be sure.

He frowned and waved his wand. A jet of air slammed into the door and carried it off of its hinges, flattening it to the ground. Harry grimaced and stepped over the fallen and cracked door into the room that belonged to his mentor.

And it was empty.

There was still the bed sitting in the center of the room, but aside from that every shred of furniture was missing, there was no sign of any inhabitants, no giveaway that Dumbledore had been in the room at all. Of course, Harry knew he had been. He'd seen the man enter the room the previous night.

But what had happened since then and now? Had Dumbledore left? Had he gone away again, like he had so many times in the past?

Or was it something worse?

Harry didn't know the answer, but his blood was pounding in his head, he felt with more and more certainty that something had happened – something bad.

Harry sat down heavily on the bed that seemed as if it had never been used. He didn't know what to do. He was at a loss. After the morning's events he needed Dumbledore, needed to warn him, to speak to him at the very least. But the man was gone.

And Harry Potter found himself alone.

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~.~.~.

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And that's the chapter! Read and Review!


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